


The Key to the North

by CommaSplice



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Older Man/Younger Woman
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-10
Updated: 2014-11-10
Packaged: 2018-02-24 19:14:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2593118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CommaSplice/pseuds/CommaSplice
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For a prompt on the <a href="http://got-exchange.livejournal.com/%E2%80%9D">GoT Exchange</a> When Sandor Clegane offers to take Sansa north after the battle of Blackwater, she agrees. Upon reaching her brother’s camp, she finds herself betrothed to Roose Bolton.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Key to the North

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Phoenixflame88](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Phoenixflame88/gifts).



> In order to make this work, I have had to follow show canon and even then I’ve had to divert significantly. Let’s assume that Sansa is 15, because that’s significantly less squicky than her being 13. I have paraphrased and appropriated one line from the books. Thanks to [Vana](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Vana/pseuds/Vana) who very kindly beta read it and to [LadyofTarth](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Ladyoftarth/pseuds/Ladyoftarth) for the hand-holding even though I know Sansa/creepy old dudes is not your thing.

* * *

_“When you’re old enough, I will make you a match with a high lord who’s worthy of you, someone brave and gentle and strong.” –Eddard Stark to Sansa Stark, A Game of Thrones_

* * *

It was not often Roose Bolton was caught unawares, but caught unawares he now was.

“The offer does not please you?” King Robb queried. “You have served me well, Lord Bolton. I would reward you. This will join our houses.”

Obviously, Roose thought. Did the boy think he was daft? 

“With the death of your son, surely you must be anxious to sire another heir.”

The pup spoke as if this was something that surely had never occurred to Roose. “It is partly on that score that I hesitate, Your Grace. Lady Stark is a beautiful woman, but she may be too—”

King Robb’s face cleared. “Not my lady mother, Lord Bolton. You will wed my sister.”

The arrival of Catelyn Stark into the tent bought him some time to absorb this. With the miraculous appearance of Lady Sansa into their camps in the company of the Hound, the king had partially forgiven his mother her treason of releasing the Kingslayer. 

Roose thought quickly. He had no idea what prompted this idiocy. The boy king was a fool wasting his eldest sister, and at this point, his only heir, on a bannerman. Perhaps that explained it. It was some half-thought-out scheme the king had dreamt up. Roose’s eyes shifted to Catelyn Stark. No, this had her stamp all over it. She knew why he was in this tent. The lady did not care much for him; she distrusted him. She thought to secure his loyalty with her daughter’s hand.

“I am honored by the offer,” he told them. “But Lord Walder Frey has offered me the pick of his granddaughters. . .” he trailed off. It would not serve as an excuse. The sister of the King in the North was an infinitely better prize than the daughter of the ninth son of the Late Lord Frey. “If Your Grace thinks it is wise for me to break off—” 

King Robb would have none of it. “Are you formally betrothed then?”

There was nothing for it. This would alter his plans considerably. “No, and I would be pleased to join our houses,” he lied. “Lord Frey . . .” he made a point of looking at Lady Stark.

“Amends will need to be made to him,” she agreed. 

All of this because this stupid boy let his cock do his thinking for him, Roose thought. But he had not entirely committed himself yet to the plan of action proposed by Tywin Lannister and Walder Frey. He could turn this to his advantage still. There was a certain irony in all of this. He had once proposed Domeric for Sansa Stark and Lord Eddard had not thought him good enough for his daughter. And now she would go to him.

* * *

The bedding ceremony was horrid. It would have been worse had it not been for Sandor Clegane. He kept them from stripping her completely, but even he couldn’t save her from this. Sansa supposed her new lord husband was better than Joffrey, but she doubted it would be by much. She had heard the rumors about the Dreadfort and the Leech Lord the same as everyone else.

He was not an ill-looking man, but he was as old as her father had been and he did not have much hair. His eyes were disturbing. There was something not quite right about them. 

At least they were not green. She tried to tell herself that it would be all right. No one was worse than Joffrey.

Lord Bolton continued to look at her as if he was inspecting a horse he was considering buying. He stepped closer and walked around her. 

Sansa heard him stop. 

“How came you by these?”

She tried not to shiver as she felt his finger trace down one of the scars on her back. “The Kingsguard,” she managed. “Joffrey would have them beat me.”

“Did you give him cause?” He found another scar and again drew his hands along it, pressing in here and there. 

“No, my lord.” How could they do this to her? How could Robb and Mother give her to this man? The silence grew and she sensed he wanted more from her. “Joffrey liked to hurt me.”

“And did you like to be hurt?”

She swiveled around then and gaped at him. 

“No?” He might as well have been expressing surprise that she didn’t like sweets.

Sansa shook her head. 

He shrugged and guided her to the bed and he sat. He made her stand before him. “I was told you are still a maid.”

“Yes, my lord.”

“Did they lie to me?”

Sansa felt her face flush.

“It would not be the first time a slut was passed off as something else,” he said mildly. 

“If you had doubts, then why did you agree to this?”

Lord Bolton undid the laces on the few bits of clothing she had left. “Because, my lady, one does not say no to a king lightly.”

It was a lesson she had learnt well. It was why her father and younger brothers were dead and her sister lost. “I am still a maiden.”

He surveyed her. “You are a comely creature. There is no doubt about that.”

Her face grew hot again. 

He pulled her to him so that she was sitting on his lap. “As long as you give _me_ no cause, you will be well treated, my lady.”

“I will do my best to be a good wife to you, my lord.” The Hound was right, she thought. She was nothing more than a pretty little bird who sang on command and all men were killers. 

Lord Bolton brought his fingers down the side of her face in a caress. “Good.”

* * *

_”There are no true knights, no more than there are gods. If you can't protect yourself, die and get out of the way of those who can. Sharp steel and strong arms rule this world, don't ever believe any different.” –Sandor Clegane to Sansa Stark, A Clash of Kings_

* * *

Each night it was the same: his lady wife would thrash about in her sleep, murmurs turning to cries as the nightmares hit her. Then she would sit bolt upright in their bed, shaking, and gathering the covers about her. On this occasion, she’d clawed at him before waking.

Roose usually watched without comment as she calmed herself. 

She pointed to the scratches on his forearm. “Did I do that?”

“Aye.” Roose listened to her apologies with half an ear. He settled back. 

“I beg pardon,” she murmured again as she lay down. “The maester told me the dreamwine would work.”

Roose grunted and was relieved when she drifted off almost immediately. It took him longer. He was finally beginning to feel drowsy when Sansa started to fight yet another phantom. Sighing, he reached to wake her. She rewarded him for his efforts by kicking him so hard in the shin that he yelped. He shook her till she came to. 

Again his bride apologized.

He rubbed his leg. The creature had yet to sleepwalk, but it occurred to Roose that he should probably secure his dagger and sword in the future. 

“They were chasing me,” Sansa said in a low voice. 

“The Kingsguard?” 

“The mob—the men who tried to rape me.” In dribs and drabs, the story came out.

Roose listened. With this and with everything she’d told them before, it was clear the Lannisters' hold on the capitol was tenuous. When and if Tywin Lannister returned to the city, the situation would change, but perhaps . . . 

“Perhaps the maester will have something stronger.”

“No,” Roose told her. “Dreamwine is strong enough.” He could feel her trembling. “These are but dreams, my lady. You are safe now.”

“There is no safety,” Sansa said with certainty. “Not anymore.” She shivered.

Unsure if it was from the cold or for from fear, he reached for another fur. “Lie down,” he ordered as he wrapped it around her. “Listen to me. You are safe,” he repeated. “You are with me and I protect what is mine.”

“Father tried to protect me too and he—”

Roose waited, but she said no more. He wondered idly what she meant to say. That Eddard Stark had her best interests at heart? That he had been an honorable man? A “good” man? It was of no importance, but still he was curious.

“Tell me what you would do if someone tried to . . .”

“To hurt you? To rape you?” The candle was flickering, but he could see her nod confirmation. “I would geld him myself.”

She turned to look at him.

“And then I would flay every inch of his skin from his body. Slowly.”

The shaking stopped.

Roose saw the faint outlines of a smile on her lips just as the flame snuffed itself out. Good, he thought. They could both finally sleep now. And then to his startlement, she nestled in against him.

* * *

For what felt like the hundredth time, Sansa sat in front of Robb’s bannermen, scouring her memory for bits of overheard conversation. They were no longer concerned with what had happened to her. Mother had made her tell it more than once; the northern lords needed reminding, she insisted, of what they were fighting for. But it had all been said. No, now they wanted to know about the supply of food in King’s Landing; of what had been said of Stannis Baratheon; of numbers of men; of defenses.

When she faltered, they pressed her. Any little bit of intelligence was valuable. 

Lord Bolton seldom said anything, but he listened and he watched. And when she remembered things, he would give her minute nods of approval. 

Sansa noted the way they grew more alert when she went over what she had overheard the Lannisters say of Stannis Baratheon. Robb needed allies now that the Tyrells had switched sides. She knew that much. 

They were done with her for the moment, but she stayed where she was and simply listened quietly. Most of them had seemed to forget she was even in the room as they debated and argued over their next course of action—not Lord Bolton, though. Sansa thought there was little he missed. 

Mother had often spoken of how she and Father had come to love each other. Sansa only had to look into her husband’s pale grey eyes to know that would never be the case for her. Mother had also said that being bedded would grow easier. Sansa hoped she was not wrong about that. He was gentle enough with her, but their couplings always felt awkward.

Moreover, Lord Bolton was not enamored of her. He found her comely and she thought he approved of the way she comported herself, but he’d married her only because Robb had asked it of him. 

Lord Bolton was speaking now. Unlike the Greatjon or Lord Karstark, he never shouted, never blustered. He never wasted words; he always spoke quietly and clearly and everyone always leaned forward to hear. 

The northmen respected him, Sansa could tell, but they feared him too. The courtesy with which they treated her was as much due to that as to her position as Robb’s sister. 

It ought to have reassured her, but she could remember a time when the court of King’s Landing had treated her with kindness and respect too. 

It was never for _her_. She was safe only as long as she enjoyed someone else’s protection and if her husband's position grew precarious, she would suffer once again.

* * *

Aside from being remarkably quiet around him, his new lady wife was satisfactory enough. Roose had initially planned to send Sansa to the Dreadfort, but neither her brother nor her mother wanted to be parted from her just yet. He supposed it did well to have her close for now. It kept him near to Robb Stark despite the foreign whore the boy king had been fool enough to wed.

Roose noted his bride’s wariness of her good sister. She hid it well, but he caught the flash of her eyes when her brother spoke of wedding Edmure Tully to one of Walder Frey’s daughters as a sop to the old man. It would not be enough.

“Edmure may not be willing,” Lady Stark was saying.

“We must all make sacrifices.”

Sansa’s gaze flickered briefly to Queen Talisa before returning to her usual demure expression. 

“From where did she come?” Sansa asked later that night as they lay in the darkness.

“Volantis,” Roose told her. “She was tending to the wounds of a Lannister soldier when he met her.” He felt his bride stiffen perceptibly. “She made no distinction between our men and theirs.”

“Did no one advise him against it?”

Roose trailed his fingers down her side. “Of course, my lady. Both Lady Stark and I tried to counsel him, but the king would have none of it. He should have contented himself with bedding her.”

“Will my uncle be enough to placate Lord Frey?”

“Your uncle Edmure and your sister, whenever she is found.” He shifted his position so he could bring his fingers between her legs. He enjoyed the gasp she made. “You heard nothing of your sister while you were in King’s Landing?”

“What are you doing?”

He smiled in the darkness. “Pleasuring you. Your sister?” he prompted.

“They lost her after they arrested my father. Lord Tyrion, the queen, none of them could find her.” She moaned as he slid his finger deeper into her cunt. “Oh!”

“Pity.” He found the nub and began massaging it. “We march soon.” He felt her grow wet. She’d be ready for him shortly. 

Sansa bucked against his finger. “I like that,” she whispered. 

“Do you?” Roose was amused. She’d been stiff as a board every time he’d taken her. He rather liked the way she was writhing now. 

“Will I be sent to the Dreadfort?” 

He slid his finger out.

Sansa protested. She went so far as to take hold of his hand and attempt to bring it back.

Roose’s smile deepened. “I thought you might go riding, my lady.” The single lit candle made it hard to see, but he had no doubt she was confused. “Like this.” He lay on his back and instructed her to straddle him. She’d be blushing like a summer rose by now, he thought. He guided her onto his cock and told her what to do. She was an apt pupil and he liked the gasps and sounds she made with him. 

“Might we do that again, my lord?” his wife inquired afterwards.

He laughed. “Once was not sufficient?”

“I enjoyed it.” She sounded surprised. 

“Well, my lady, we shall do so again then, but not tonight.” He was startled and then amused to feel her taking his hand back down between her thighs. “I begin to think you might learn to like me after all.”

Sansa did not reply immediately. She guided his finger in. “There, please.” 

This he could do. He wished suddenly he was twenty, nay, even ten years younger. He would have taken her again right here and now. 

“I do not dislike you,” she told him between breaths. “You have an honest sigil.”

For as long as he could remember, Roose had heard the image of the Flayed Man denigrated, mocked, but otherwise feared. Never had anyone called it honest. “How so?”

“You are not like the Lannisters. You do not hide what you are,” Sansa explained. “Oh, that, please, my lord.”

Roose liked how she begged. He obliged her. “Lions are not known for being gentle creatures.”

“They pretend to be so glorious,” she said after a moment. “Cersei was drunk the night of the battle and Joffrey for all his cruelty is stupid. And the king, Robert, I mean, he was . . .” 

“Shall I stop?”

Sansa pushed against him. “No, please. I like this.”

“Mmm.” He had not decided how to proceed. The original plan would have seen him made Warden of the North temporarily, but now with Sansa wedded to him, even if he continued as arranged, he knew it would no longer be on the table. Until the Volantene whore produced a son and heir, Roose had the key to the North right here underneath him. She was next in line. 

“I wish it was not pink, though.”

“No?” He slid a second finger in. Judging by the way his lady thrust against him, she approved. When she did not continue speaking, he stopped. He ignored her protests. “You did not answer me, my lady. Why do you wish my sigil was not pink?”

Her breath was ragged. “It clashes with my hair.”

Roose laughed then and returned his attentions to her cunt. “I fear I cannot change it.” Queen in the North, he thought. A docile queen, through whom he could rule, who would give him trueborn heirs. 

Sansa moaned. 

His cock was stiffening. He was not so old after all. He mounted her. “You are a Stark,” he murmured. “You may continue to wear the direwolf at times.” It would help with the men still loyal to her brother. The Boltons would take their rightful place in the North.

* * *

_“You little fool. Tears are not a woman’s only weapon. You’ve got another one between your legs, and you’d best learn to use it. You’ll find men use their swords freely enough. Both kinds of swords.” –Cersei Lannister to Sansa Stark, A Clash of Kings_

* * *

Sansa kept her eyes on her sewing and listened. From what Lord Bolton told her, Robb was a fierce warrior, skilled and shrewd when it came to battle. About his skills as a king, he said little. He didn't have to. She saw it in the eyes of his men: the Greatjon, Karstark, even sometimes in expressions of the Mormonts and Mother. Lord Karstark had not forgiven Mother for releasing the Kingslayer. Sansa had a hard time understanding her mother’s logic herself. Lord Bolton’s silence on the subject spoke volumes.

The Hound fought for Robb now, at least ostensibly. It did not escape her notice that he was always near her. She knew it did not escape her lord husband’s notice either.

She said nothing about it. She spoke little during the day. Mostly she listened and she watched. It wasn’t as bad as in King’s Landing, where a misspoken word or look would earn her a beating, but her experiences had taught her too well. She wore her hair in the style of the northerners again and stuck to Stark white and grey or Tully blue. She was King Robb’s quiet sister and Lord Bolton’s dutiful wife. 

She remembered Cersei’s advice about a woman’s weapon. Only at night, in the dark, did she venture questions or opinions. Lord Bolton had no love for Talisa and less loyalty than he pretended for Robb. It was why they had given her to him, but it was pointless. He liked bedding her well enough, but if they thought this marriage assured them anything, they were mistaken. He was a cold, hard, ruthless man and he was as bad or worse a killer than any of them. She would give him sons and they would be killers too.

“Sandor Clegane follows you like the dog he is,” he murmured one night. 

Sansa reached down for his cock the way he had taught her. “Has he sworn for Robb yet?”

“No.”

“He would serve you if you wanted,” she said indifferently. 

Lord Bolton made a short laugh. "He would serve me if _you_ wanted. It is not the same thing."

She decided not to answer this. “When do you mean me to go to the Dreadfort?”

“Are you so anxious to be parted from me?”

Sansa ran her fingers across the length of his cock. “No, my lord.” From everything she had ever heard the Dreadfort was a grim place. The tales of his bastard were not encouraging either. 

“I think it wiser to keep you close for now.”

She shivered as he nipped at her neck. He meant her for some purpose, she suspected. It was why he wanted her in Stark colors so much. He liked for her to be near Talisa too. She questioned him about the reason.

“You are a good example for her,” he murmured. “You are what a northern lady should be. I will speak to the king about your dog. He should fight in the vanguard in the next battle.”

Sansa felt him harden. He liked her on top so she straddled him now. She preferred to couple with him this way too. If it was never easy being around her husband, this part was at least much more enjoyable. She smiled as he brought his hands up to her breasts. “Whatever you think best, my lord.” She would do the Hound no favors by saying anything else.

The queen was right about learning to use the weapon between her legs, but it had its limits. He was sometimes less guarded after he took her, but she’d be a fool to believe he’d do anything against his own interests in favor of hers. 

Robb asked her to walk with him one day. “Does Lord Bolton treat you well?”

She thought sourly that it was a question he should have asked himself before wedding her to him. “I have no cause for complaint,” she told her brother. 

“He scares me sometimes.”

It was the first wise thing he had said since she’d been returned to her family. It was nothing she could respond to, not now. No matter what colors she wore, Sansa was very much the property of her lord husband and she knew it. “I thought you wed me to him because he served you well.”

“Mother thought it prudent. Lord Bolton is sometimes . . . he is a hard man. Does he mistreat you?”

What did he think he could possibly do if the answer was yes? “No, Your Grace.” 

“We’re alone, Sansa. You don’t have to be so formal.”

She realized it then. It was guilt he felt. “Will Uncle Edmure and Arya be enough for Lord Frey?”

His mouth twisted. “He is our grandfather’s bannerman. It is his duty to support me.” He said it without conviction.

“I was to be Joffrey’s queen. It was his duty to protect me. It did not stop him from having the Kingsguard strip off my clothes or beat me. Duty only goes so far, Robb.” 

“I know you wanted to be married to a handsome knight, Sansa—Lord Bolton—”

“My stay in King’s Landing cured me of my stupid notions.” She stood still. “Seeing Father butchered in front of me—”

He took her hand in his. “We will have vengeance for Father; I promise you. And we will get Arya back.”

“Arya is lost. Not even Lord Varys could find her. If she didn’t perish in a ditch somewhere, she must have died in the countryside. They killed everyone. Joffrey made me look upon Septa Mordane’s head. They took Jeyne away. Everyone is gone. Arya is gone. You would do better to listen to my husband’s counsel.” Sansa glanced around. She saw no one bearing Lord Bolton’s sigil, but nonetheless she lowered her voice. “If you must scorn his advice, at least do not do so in front of the others. It does not sit well with him when you do so.”

“Has he said—”

Sansa shook her head. “He does not talk to me of such matters. You made him your Hand. Treat him like one.”

Robb absorbed this. “Talisa likes you.”

Sansa wondered how he had stayed alive so long. “I am flattered.” She did not return her good sister’s affections. “She is very beautiful.” Talisa brought her husband nothing but trouble and she made no distinction between Starks and Lannisters. If he had honored his oath, they wouldn’t be in this position.

Robb looked relieved. “I knew she was mistaken about your regard for her.”

Could he really be this foolish? 

“Sansa . . . you never told me if the Hound . . . did anything that was not . . . if he took advantages with you.”

He had not asked. And yet, she thought, he sold her like a cow to his bannerman claiming her maidenhead was intact. “The Hound never touched me. He saved me twice. Once during the riot when he slew the three men who would have raped me, and once when he got me away from the Keep during the battle and safely to you. Promise him a reward and send him to find Arya.” 

Robb thought a moment and then nodded. “And what do I say to Bolton? You just suggested I take his counsel, now you advise against it.”

“He wants him gone. I doubt he cares how it is accomplished.”

A few days later, Sansa found she was mistaken. 

“Your brother sent your dog away,” Lord Bolton whispered in her ear as they lay together. 

Sansa tried to appear disinterested. “The Hound is not _my_ anything, my lord. Does it matter?”

“No, I suppose not.” But her husband’s expression suggested otherwise. “Only I would have been more comfortable with him dead and gone rather than at large. If he returns, with or without your sister, I shall have the same problem again.”

“This war shows no sign of ending,” Sansa said with a yawn. “Surely there will be other battles to sacrifice him to?”

The suggestion earned her a laugh. “You have quite a ruthless streak in you, my lady.”

“Perhaps you might call me Sansa?”

“But you are _my_ lady wife, are you not?”

She saw the look in his pale eyes. “Of course, my lord. I did not mean to give offense. Forgive me, I should not—” 

Lord Bolton continued to smile ever so slightly and he did not raise his voice, but he was nonetheless terrifying. “I wanted your dog put down. You interfered. Do not pretend your brother came up with the idea to send him after your little sister, _my_ lady. It was your scheme, not his. He is a fool who is lucky he’s kept his head as long as he has. I have grown fond enough of you, but you would do well not to make such a mistake again. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, my lord.” She swallowed. 

He looked at her for a full minute. “Your pup of a brother has been treating me with markedly more respect of late. Your doing as well, was it not?”

Sansa nodded. 

“It is the only reason I do not punish you.” He pushed her so she lay on her back. “But from now on, the only one you give your counsel or help to is _me_.”

She was a fool to think him better than Joffrey. She felt tears coming. She turned her head. 

“What passed between you?”

“He said you thought he should promise his firstborn son’s hand—”

“—No, I mean—” he broke off. “Go on.”

Sansa realized he had been asking about the Hound and her.

“The king told you about my proposal for his son should he have any for one of Walder Frey’s whelps and what else?”

“He brought up what you were planning for the Hound.” She wished Lord Bolton was not looking at her so intently. “I told him he should listen to you more as you were his Hand and he should heed your counsel.” Sansa bit her lip. “Then he spoke of the queen and her regard for me.”

Lord Bolton arched an eyebrow. “And when did you suggest he send the Hound after Arya?”

“It was after what I said about you being his Hand. He said something about being the king. Is not Lord Frey’s support more important than what happens to some drunken knight?”

Her lord husband continued to look at her as if she were a curiosity. He seemed to be measuring her. “What did you do with the Hound?”

She looked at him with confusion.

“When he brought you from King’s Landing to your brother, what did you do with him?”

She had been mostly terrified. At times their journey had made her time as a Lannister hostage seem tame in comparison. The Hound had left a trail of bodies in their wake. 

The things she had seen . . . the things she had done . . . the first time The Hound had handed her a dagger, she’d assured him she would never use it, could never use it. But used it she had. 

When she reached her mother and brother, all would be well. The gods would forgive her for the things she had done. She was free from the Lannisters. She was free from Joffrey. She was free from Cersei—as long as she reached her family. 

Well, now, here she was, safe. _Safe._ Stupid Sansa, she thought. She was just a stupid little girl after all. There was no safety. Not anymore. She repeated what she had told her brother and mother when they’d first come here. He had been there; he knew this.

“You spent quite some time alone in his company. He did not demand . . . recompense while you were with him?”

Sansa did not understand. “He made me sing for him when I found him in my room the night of the battle.” 

Lord Bolton blinked. 

“He was drunk.” Sansa pushed herself up on her elbows. “He said the Blackwater was on fire. The queen had Ser Ilyn Payne in the Keep with us. She said if Stannis was successful, she had given orders to Ser Ilyn to kill all of us so we would not be raped. She was drunk herself. Shae—someone suggested I would be safer in my room than in Cersei’s company. I found him there. I thought I was alone and he was in the room and he was drunk too. He demanded I sing for him and then after he told me he meant to go north and he offered to take me with him.”

“And he never asked for anything more from you?”

“He spoke of a reward from Robb.” Still Lord Bolton looked at her. “I had nothing of value to give him,” she explained. 

Lord Bolton traced her lips with his finger. “You were a maid when you came to my bed. I am satisfied of that, but there are other ways to please a man. You did none of these?”

Sansa looked at him blankly.

He seemed to come to a decision because he smiled then. “No, I can see you did not. Very well, my lady, we will consider the matter settled.”

Sansa did not know what he meant, but she did understand he was no longer angry with her. 

“Continue to keep your good sister close,” he whispered. “If she trusts you, so much the better for us, but do not return the favor.” He climbed on top of her. “Sansa,” he said trying it out. “Yes, I shall call you so when we are like this. This misstep of yours aside, you please me well.”

She tried not to shiver as he kissed her.

* * *

Roose had always considered women in the camps a distraction, but it was not unsatisfying to have his unquestionably beautiful lady wife waiting for him. The first time he returned after the battle and ravished her, she’d been startled. Now she seemed to expect it. This last time, he rather thought she welcomed his attentions.

“It will not be long now,” he whispered in her ear after. 

Sansa made him no answer. 

He wondered if she understood him. 

“The Lannisters will not stop,” she said finally.

“Tywin Lannister knows this war needs to end. There is a limit to his resources, even with his new arrangement with the Tyrells. The Ironborn are turning their attentions to the Reach. Stannis Baratheon’s attack did considerable damage.” Roose enjoyed these late night conversations. He never told her anything directly; there was the risk she might confide in her mother or her brother, but he thought she had a sense of his intentions. Once he got a child on her, he would have her loyalty as well. Her time among the lions had taught her the necessity of self-preservation. She seemed to sense she was better protected with him than with her family.

“How can he accept the North being independent?” She turned to face him. “Joffrey will not stop.”

Roose snorted. “Joffrey is not the real ruler of Westeros, Sansa. He may not know it, but his grandfather—”

“My father was not supposed to be executed,” Sansa told him. “It was all arranged. It was like a mummer’s show; everyone had learnt their parts, even me. Father agreed to take the black if he would swear Joffrey was the true king and confess to treason. The queen, Grandmaester Pycelle, Lord Varys, Lord Baelish—it was all arranged. But when Joffrey decided otherwise, there was nothing anyone could do.” Sansa’s voice grew distant. “He does not concern himself with ruling. While I was there, he let his mother or Lord Tyrion rule in his stead, but when he chooses to act, no one stops him. He hates me and he hates all northmen. Regardless of what Tywin Lannister decides, if Joffrey doesn’t wish to go along . . .”

“He is a boy. By all accounts, he is a foolish boy.”

“He is mad,” Sansa said flatly. “And he is stupid.”

Roose considered what she said. For all her quiet ways, or perhaps because of them, Sansa was clever enough.

“Besides they will want the North,” Sansa went on. “The Lannisters are greedy. I saw how they married their way into every family possible. They are like rats. Every time you think you have counted them all, there is another Lannister. If Robb had not married, I suppose it would be possible, but wed he is and you now have me. Even if Arya is found, she will not be sufficient, neither for the Lannisters nor for the Freys.”

It put a new light on the situation. “We cannot take and hold all of Westeros.” No matter what he wished, he was a practical man. There were limits to what they could achieve.

“What of Stannis Baratheon? Might we ally with him?”

“He would not treat with your mother. He is a stubborn man. He wants the Seven Kingdoms entire. He will not be content without the North.”

“What if Robb ceded the title of King of the North?” 

He would think on it. “You have a good mind for this,” he told her truthfully. 

Sansa seemed surprised. 

“What did you find out about the whore?” Although Sansa would not term Queen Talisa as such, he knew she felt the same as he did. 

“She had her moon’s blood yesterday.”

“Good.”

Sansa frowned. “Why? The sooner she gives Robb an heir, the better.”

He waited. 

She rolled onto her back as it hit her. 

“As you say, it might be better if he were not wed,” Roose murmured. He brought his hand onto her belly. “There is still time for him to put her aside, but if he persists in keeping her, it would be better for you to remain next in line—you and the sons I shall get on you.”

“It has been months since we were wed.”

“It does not always happen right away,” Roose told her. The maester had assured him Sansa was healthy. He even suggested it would be better if she were a year or so older before she had a babe. There was the question of Ramsay, of course, but Roose pushed that troubling thought away for the moment. His bastard’s antics with Lady Hornwood had reached camp. Someone had told Sansa because she had been asking Roose about him. 

Sansa nodded. 

“There is word of your dog,” Roose commented. “We’ve had ravens to the effect that he has been seen in the company of a young girl your sister’s age.”

She sat up. “Why did you not tell me? Is she all right? When will they be here?”

“Calm yourself. It may not be her. The reports are vague.” He waited till Sansa settled. “How old is she now?”

“Two and ten, no, three and ten.”

A trifle too young to wed then, Roose thought. He would need to consider to whom she should go. It was out of the question to give her to Ramsay now. Not when he had Sansa and not when his bastard was so erratic. As it was, he would need to do something about Ramsay. Neither Sansa nor any of the children he would get on her would be safe near his bastard. He wasn’t overly worried about Walder Frey. After Robb Stark was disposed of, there would be new assurances, new oaths. 

Sansa smoothed his hair back. “You have not told me how the battle went.”

“I am here, am I not?” He caught and kissed her wrists. “We routed them. It is all that matters.”

* * *  
_**Two months later**_  
* * *

_”If he were dead, what would betide of me?”_  
_“No other harm but loss of such a lord.”_  
_“The loss of such a lord includes all harm.” –Queen Elizabeth to Rivers (on the probable death of her husband) Richard III_

* * *

Sansa knew she should feel terror, but she was strangely calm in the face of Roose Bolton’s marked suspicion.

It had not even required much on her part. She had betrayed no real confidences. Robb and his bride, such as she was, were safe—safe for now—at least from her husband’s machinations. 

If the ravens from the Wall were correct, they might all be facing a different sort of threat very soon.

For the first time, Sansa thanked the gods for her time in King’s Landing. She had feigned ignorance before. As she babbled words about her stupidity and innocence when he’d given voice to accusations, she saw him waver. 

He had told her more than once how he valued her opinion, that he thought her clever, but she knew he wanted to believe her blameless. He enjoyed her company and that he had come to be somewhat fond of her. In a strange sort of way, she felt similarly. 

“You may be a Stark, but you are _my_ wife and—”

Sansa took hold of his hand and guided it to her belly. “—our children will be Boltons,” she promised him quietly. “This one will be a boy.” There. Displeasure was slowly melting away to be replaced with something else—something safer.

“How far along are you?”

“Two months, I think.” They had been without a maester for too long, but she knew she was with child and she could count. A child did not guarantee protection, but it would help. “I have heard things . . . about your . . . about Ramsay,” she said hesitantly, partly to divert him and partly out of concern.

Roose was not fooled. “Tell me again that you did not betray me.”

“I said nothing,” Sansa repeated. She had not needed to. All she had done was utter a veiled hint or two of caution to Mother and it had been done; her Uncle Edmure’s Frey bride had come to him for the wedding and Talisa had been sent to a place of comparative safety. “I know neither of us wished for this marriage, but I am not unhappy with you.” Oddly enough, it wasn’t a lie. “And now with the babe . . . I would never betray you.” Sansa hadn’t, not really. She could have, but then her future and that of the child would have been even more uncertain. If she could convince Roose of her loyalty, then she would have his protection. 

He looked at her searchingly and then after a moment, he nodded. 

She was relieved although she took care not to show it. “Are we . . . what will happen to us now?”

He shrugged. “Your brother does not trust me, but he has no proof. My position is stronger than it was before this war started. We will do sufficiently well, but I will not live long enough to see new sons to manhood, and boy lords are the bane of any house.”

“You are not an old man,” Sansa objected. 

Roose quirked an eyebrow and he shook his head. “We live in uncertain times.” 

She had not suffered through everything to consign her unborn child to such a fate so casually. “I know Ramsay is of your blood. And I have heard you say that bastards have their uses . . .”

Roose considered. “The Hound is no kin to Ramsay,” he suggested. “Dogs have their uses too.” 

His face was a mask, but she intuited that the economy of this solution appealed to him. He could use the Hound to dispose of his bastard and then would have an excuse to kill the Hound.

Sansa thought of all Sandor Clegane had done for her. But if she could save Robb, then surely she could save the Hound too.

There was a smile on Roose’s lips now and this time it reached his eyes.

* * *  
_**One month later**_  
* * *

_“If I give him sons, he may come to love me. She would name them Eddard and Brandon and Rickon, and raise them all to be as valiant as Ser Loras. And to hate Lannisters, too.” –Sansa Stark, A Storm of Swords_

* * *

Roose found Sansa sewing. She looked up at his approach and smiled at him. As he told her about Ramsay and Clegane, he noted the tension leaving her shoulders. She went to him.

“Do we . . . will we—”

“I’ll have Ramsay’s corpse burnt. It is safer that way.” It went against his traditions to burn the dead, but from what they were being told, that seemed advisable. “You will wear mourning for him.”

She nodded. “Of course.” And then she guided his hand to her belly. “The babe will be safe now and it will be a son.”

As if in response, the babe kicked. “I have sent men after your—after Clegane.”

Sansa seemed unconcerned. “Of course.”

“Strange that he evaded the trap I had set for him.” Roose kept his hand where it was. Sansa looked the picture of innocence. Perhaps she had not interfered. And if she had, what did it matter? The Hound would never dare come near her again. “I’ll leave you to your needlework.”

She returned to her seat.

Roose started to stride out of the chamber. Something made him stop and look back. Sansa sat with her head bent slightly over her work, a small, enigmatic smile playing about her lips.

* * *


End file.
